Ian's exclamation rang out exceptionally loud at the entrance of the cavernous warehouse.
In this world, there truly weren't many people who could leave a person like Ian Kent—someone with world-class mental instability and vast experience—this utterly aghast.
This little punk girl in front of him was undoubtedly at the top of that list. Even with his imagination capable of breaching the heavens, he never could have dreamed of this specific way of "cutting costs and increasing revenue."
Just look at those food crates being lugged around by the workers!
The boxes were stamped with blurry Cyrillic markings and a hammer-and-sickle emblem that screamed "bygone era." Judging by that rusted, weathered appearance, these things were likely older than Ian's long-deceased grandfather!
Ian considered himself a capitalist—black-hearted, sure—but he still had at least a shred of "conscience," or a baseline. For instance, he didn't feed his employees things that would obviously kill them.
But Madison was different; Ian's baseline seemed to be her upper limit.
To save money, she really dared to do anything! Even if one used "zombie meat," surely you shouldn't use meat that had been buried so deep and for so long that it was actually becoming a literal zombie!
Hearing Ian's shout, Madison, who had been directing with gusto, turned around. Even her heavy smoky-eye makeup couldn't hide her momentary shock. She blinked her large eyes, and the first thing out of her mouth was actually: "Ian? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be asleep by now?"
"You're the one who said if I sleep too late, I won't grow taller!" She clearly knew all about Ian's schedule and his obsession with naturally reaching a height of one hundred and ninety centimeters.
"Uh..."
Ian was momentarily choked up by this sudden concern. He sighed helplessly and waved a hand. "Can't be helped. My useless brothers just love causing trouble..."
At that moment, he suddenly remembered that Jonathan, Jordan, and Damian were seemingly still forgotten back in that church, tied up.
A bit careless.
But then again... it wasn't particularly urgent. They were sturdy enough, especially the two Kryptonian boys; being tied up for a while wouldn't kill them, nor would they turn into jerky.
Right now, Ian was more concerned with Madison's "anti-heaven" operation.
He pointed at the crates still flowing off the truck, crates that smelled of historical dust, forcing the conversation back on track.
"Care to explain, Miss Madison?"
Ian used her formal title, mainly because there were workers moving cargo around; he had to give his classmate some face and not call her a "little punk girl" directly.
This was Ian's attention to detail—detail finer than a needle. Seeing this, Madison immediately got a look on her face that said "I get it"—at least she thought she understood perfectly.
She puffed out her chest and explained with a proud, boastful tone, "Ian, don't worry! I always strive for excellence in quality and quantity!"
"This isn't Cold War stock; it's World War II stock! It's older and cheaper. How about it? I saved a fortune this time, didn't I?" Madison had a look of someone begging for a reward.
Ian was once again hit by a wave of shock.
"!!!"
He thought it was premium zombie meat, but Madison had gone ahead and found the Zombie King! WWII stock?! The age of this meat was probably greater than Grandma Martha's!
Can this thing even be called food? This is clearly a historical artifact! If a regular person ate this, would they instantly awaken past-life memories and turn into a soldier from Stalingrad?!
Writing too many novels had some effect on Ian's brain; at this moment, he was beyond shocked. He opened his mouth, trying to find a tactful way to say "you saved too much".
"Um... my friend, actually, when I said 'save money'... I didn't mean like this..."
However.
Before Ian could finish.
The truck driver nearby, who had been silently driving with his head down, suddenly had a stress reaction upon hearing those words!
"No! Have you two even studied history?!" The driver uncle snapped his head around, his face full of collapse and indignation.
"I really couldn't find any WWI stock! Flip through a history book, they didn't even have refrigerators or cold storage back then! Where am I supposed to find WWI-era compressed military rations for you?!"
This reaction showed he had been nagged plenty by Madison, that history-slacker, to go hunt for even more "ancient" and "cheap" "antique food."
And because of that.
Perhaps he felt Ian's demands would be just as eccentric as Madison's.
"What the hell?"
Ian was stunned by the driver's sudden outburst and turned his gaze toward him. Ian recognized the guy; he was a small-fry superhero active in Metropolis, codename Black Lightning.
Recently, he seemed to have been hanging out with Ian's second brother, Jordan, and somehow got swindled by Madison into becoming the logistics manager.
But this guy did have some "wild" connections; he could always find "good stuff" that wasn't on the market—though this time, the good stuff was a bit 'too' good.
"Don't get excited, listen to me."
Ian looked at the agitated Black Lightning and asked tentatively, "So... these goods, did you haul them out of a history museum's warehouse?"
He suspected Black Lightning might have robbed the reserve vault of some military museum.
"Huh? No! What history museum?!" Hearing this, Black Lightning's eyes went even wider, looking at Ian like he was a potential lunatic.
"Boss, you're not gonna tell me to go to a museum next to find a few mummies to make soup, are you?!" His voice was tinged with terror and symptoms of paranoia.
His imagination was truly too rich. Clearly, working under Madison and Jordan for these few weeks had given him severe PTSD regarding the company's "business scope" and the bosses' logic. He was showing classic "Arkham" symptoms, frantically doubting the mental state of everyone around him.
"..."
Ian had always known he was the only sane person; now he felt everyone around him was abnormal. He realized he and Black Lightning were on completely different wavelengths.
The other party could always take a perfectly normal statement of his and spin it into a magical hallucination.
"Language barriers between brothers?"
In Ian's view, the weight of this phrase was steadily rising. He helplessly rubbed his forehead, looking at the expectant Madison, who seemed to be waiting for praise.
Then.
Ian forced a squeezed-out smile, remained silent, and looked once more at those "Soviet Bitch" zombie meats that were basically fossils.
He felt a deep sense of powerlessness.
"My friend, I understand your intent. Saving money for the company is good. But... really, there's no need to save to this extent..."
Ian truly wasn't that stingy. He stepped forward and picked up a tin can. It felt heavy and cold in his hand, the production date on it blurred almost beyond recognition.
"This thing... no matter how you look at it, it doesn't look edible. I'm afraid if the Angels eat it, it won't just be a matter of diarrhea; they'll just drop dead on the spot and head back to Heaven."
Ian expressed his literal concern.
He picked through the frozen meat that looked like a "door-opener" into the afterlife. With just one glance, it was clear that once this meat thawed, it would undoubtedly start oozing green slime.
However, he couldn't bring himself to be too harsh on Madison. Although his dear classmate had a bizarre way of thinking, her starting point was sincerely for the good of his company.
Loyal people like that weren't common.
This "loyalty" was almost touching. But... Ian really didn't dare touch this meat. Even someone as unpicky as him was starting to feel a bit nauseous just looking at it.
Hearing Ian's words, Madison tilted her head and thought for a moment. She seemed a bit regretful but immediately proposed a new "cost-saving" plan.
"Then... how about Cold War stock? I know a Ukrainian warehouse manager; he said they still have plenty of stock from the 70s. It's a bit more expensive than this, but definitely cheaper than fresh meat on the market!"
She seemed to have a particular obsession with Soviet soil.
"..."
Ian stared into Madison's pure eyes and racked his brain for a long time, trying to find a middle ground that satisfied the need to save money without being too anti-human or anti-angel.
Again, he, Ian Kent, was just a capitalist. He didn't want to touch the kind of stunts "entrepreneurs" liked to pull; he didn't even want to use this frozen meat to open a "Bessie Restaurant."
Finally.
After much deliberation, Ian spoke, his tone carrying the difficulty of trying to communicate.
"Little punk girl, look, our Angel employees, though they are transcendent beings, are still humanoid in form. They have a certain level of intelligence and aesthetics... shouldn't we show some respect for their 'human-like rights'?"
"At least regarding their diet?"
Ian deeply understood the principle that if you want the horse to run, you have to let it eat grass. He struggled to organize his words.
"So, the age of this meat... should at least be younger than us, right?"
The "guidance-seeking" Ian was a rare sight in this version. Madison nodded as if she half-understood and took out a small notebook to start recording.
"Oh... meat younger than us..."
One could only hope she didn't misunderstand that sentence. Since Ian could only see that single line, he was still a bit nervous about how Madison's mind would interpret it.
"What about seafood? We know Aquaman; the procurement price would definitely be low." Madison looked up and asked, seemingly unaware that Aquaman was also "a fish."
However.
Her sudden brainstorm actually inspired Ian.
"Seafood? Seafood is fine. Seafood is good. Go get some Fukushima seafood for the Angels. I want to see if Angels who eat Fukushima seafood will start glowing again at night!"
Ian knew that messy radiation couldn't kill an Angel. Besides his "warm-heartedness" in helping the Angels regain their radiance, he actually wanted to see if the Angels' "finned parts" would rotate.
"Nice, nice!"
Listening to Ian's "grand blueprint," Madison's eyes grew brighter and brighter. She felt that Ian was indeed the New God; his ideas were just higher-end and more avant-garde than hers!
She quickly scribbled furiously in her notebook.
"By the way."
Madison seemed to have a new world opened to her by Ian's "Fukushima Glowing Angel" and "Rotating Angel" plans. She began to generalize.
Her little mouth kept yapping as she provided even more unspeakable directions for sourcing ingredients.
"Ian, should we also consider mushrooms from the Chernobyl exclusion zone? Maybe we can cultivate Angels that can spray spore clouds!"
The more she spoke, the more excited she got, the light in her eyes comparable to a searchlight. Beside them, Black Lightning's face turned green as he listened to these plans that sounded more and more like supervillain plots.
He felt his already dwindling sense of superhero justice was frantically screaming an alarm. If he listened any longer, he was afraid he wouldn't just be resigning—he'd be calling the Justice League to raid this suspicious factory.
Wait?
Justice League.
Black Lightning's expression grew even grimmer. He realized he was being stupid; the guy in front of him was a second-generation member of the Justice League. Going to the Justice League seemed a bit unreliable...
Realizing this.
A sense of powerlessness took over Black Lightning's entire body.
"Uh... the unloading is done! I have other routes to run, gotta go!" Black Lightning almost scrambled to speak. Then, without waiting for a response from Ian or Madison, he hurriedly jumped into the cab and shouted at the other workers, who were also staring blankly as if their worldviews had been shattered.
"Get in! Let's go!" The workers felt like they had been granted a grand pardon, scrambling into the truck. The truck roared and practically fled from this "mad culinary creative incubator."
All that was left was a cloud of dust, a ground full of WWII zombie meat and tins labeled "Soviet Bitch," and Ian and Madison staring at each other in the wind.
"Forget it. Find some WWII military enthusiasts online, or some vintage survival challenge bloggers, and recycle these things as 'hardcore experience packs.' We might even be able to sell them at a high price." How else could he be called a qualified capitalist? Ian proposed a plan for waste utilization that might even turn a profit.
Truly excellent capitalists have the knack for turning trash into treasure.
It wasn't that the product had no value.
It was just that the target audience hadn't been found.
"Are we selling them?"
Madison looked at those tins with a look of unwillingness on her face. "Since we already bought them... it's such a waste to toss them. Ian, I think I might have a way to make them... reborn!"
She was eager to try, volunteering herself.
Ian raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Oh? Have our 'tech and dirty tricks' developed to this extent? You can turn fossil-level meat back into fresh meat? If you have something that good, give me some?"
He thought Madison had mastered some insane food additive technology.
He was quite curious.
However, Ian's hope for an upgrade was quickly dashed. Madison shook her head and leaned in, whispering mysteriously as if she were afraid of being overheard.
"It's not tech, Ian. It's... magic." With that, she stepped forward and extended her hands, palms facing a crate of zombie meat that looked like it smelled of "pre-death flavor." Madison's hands began to emit a soft and strange energy fluctuation.
Different from Raven's deep violet-black, this energy displayed a... "pearl-like luster," similar to what often appeared in high-end skincare commercials.
Regardless, that pearl-lustered energy enveloped several crates like a mist. An amazing thing happened—the zombie meat actually started to become succulent and fresh.
As if it had just been slaughtered.
The tins were also affected by this power.
The originally rusted, historically-scented tin exteriors actually became bright and new at a speed visible to the naked eye! It was as if they had just come off the production line!
Even the blurry Cyrillic markings on them became clearly legible!
"See!" Madison proudly displayed her results. "I'm using 'Beauty Magic'! I discovered this by accident when I was doing skincare for those washed-up stars in Hollywood! It can make things look like they've found a second spring, and they feel incredibly smooth to the touch!"
She clearly didn't realize what she was doing.
But Ian was a man of great experience. He felt the unique fluctuations radiating from that energy, his eyes widening, and his expression becoming somewhat unbelievable.
"No way! This is clearly Time Magic!" He had been to the end of time in the Marvel Universe; he was all too familiar with the aura of manipulating the flow of time!
This wasn't some "Beauty Magic" Madison was using; this was literally localized time reversal!
Though the range was small and it only acted on the surface of objects, it was indeed the power of time!
"Is that so?" Madison tilted her head, looking at Ian with a blank expression, seemingly completely unaware of the terrifying power she possessed.
"Am I not a born Beauty Witch...?"
She had actually given herself a new title.
Looking at Madison's ignorant of the value look, Ian was pained and envious as he grabbed her shoulders. "Little punk girl! You're a genius!"
"If you use this tech on fossils, you could film a full-scale Jurassic Park tomorrow. Also, selling youth—you could be a Time Merchant. All of these are great paths!"
"The application prospects for this tech are vast! Aircraft carrier maintenance! Directly return worn flight decks and time back to a brand-new factory state! Nuclear submarine polishing! Make a rusted hull instantly smooth again! And those famous painting restorations, antique maintenance... My God! This ability of yours is simply a gold mine!"
Truth be told, Ian's mind was incredibly sharp.
Hearing Ian's description, Madison was stunned, murmuring, "It... can do all that?"
She had never thought that the little trick she used to remove wrinkles for stars and "beautify" tin cans actually contained such immense potential.
"As expected! You're still the wise one!"
She once again admired Ian's "business wisdom" to the point of complete submission.
Just as Ian was immersed in the fantasy of how "Time Magic" could change the world, suddenly, from the direction of central Metropolis, a blast of incredibly piercing scarlet light erupted.
A massive, complex magic circle emitting a heart-palpitating evil energy appeared out of thin air above the city like a brand, slowly rotating!
The powerful magical fluctuations could be clearly felt by Ian and Madison, even from a great distance!
Madison was startled by this sudden sight and cried out, "How is this happening again?! What crisis is it this time? Alien invasion or dimensional collapse?"
Clearly, she was already fully accustomed to the rhythm of Metropolis producing major news in the middle of the night every few days; after the initial surprise, she even had a hint of anticipation, like she was about to open a "blind box."
"Oh, right!"
Seeing this familiar scarlet magic circle and the aura of Trigon within it, Ian suddenly slapped Madison's head, pretending he had slapped his own head and had a sudden realization.
"I was so busy being your life mentor, I almost forgot the real business!" At this moment, he finally remembered why he had come to the factory!
"It's fine! It's fine!" Ian quickly explained to the somewhat eager Madison, who was about to rush over. "This time it's not a crisis; it's a buffet! A top-tier one at that!"
He didn't really want Madison to go.
After all, "food guarding" might be Ian's only flaw.
With that, Ian rushed through the factory gates like a gust of wind, heading straight for an area deep inside the warehouse marked with a sign: "Live Broadcast Area, No Trespassing."
*BAM!*
Since it was his own turf, he could open doors however he wanted. Ian chose the fastest way, kicking open the door to Michael's livestream room.
There.
A blond man—or possibly a woman by now—with a faint holy light flowing behind him, was wearing an incredibly ill-fitting Lolita dress and wiggling his hips for the camera.
"Thanks to 'Hades Big Bro' for the rocket~ Mwah~ The next song, 'Learn to Meow,' is for everyone~" The Archangel paid no mind to Ian's arrival.
His eyes were only on the computer screen.
After all, he had to save up enough points to return to Heaven.
"Michael! Lend me some fluff!"
Ian didn't have the heart to criticize the eyesore in front of him. He dashed forward and, amidst Michael's terrified gaze, reached out and vigorously tickled his armpits!
"Waaaaah! What are you doing?! Damn capitalist! Let go of me!" Michael screamed. Reflexively, a pair of pure white wings radiating warm light "BAM"-ed out from behind him!
Now!
With swift hands, Ian grabbed several of Michael's largest, most beautiful primary feathers and yanked hard!
"AWOOOOO—!!!" Michael let out a shrill scream, feeling as if a piece of his soul had been torn away! Golden blood instantly seeped from the spot where the feathers had been brutally plucked.
"How dare you!"
Michael roared in fury.
Ian didn't care about his fury, which consisted of only that one repeated line.
He stuffed that large handful of still-warm, holy feathers into his shirt and turned to run, leaving the cross-dressing Michael, with a bald patch on his wing, in a state of disarray and rage in the livestream room.
Rushing out of the factory.
Ian shouted to Madison, who was still earnestly applying "Time Beauty Magic" to the zombie meat tins: "By the way! Don't you dare eat any of that meat yourself! Give it all to Michael! Stuff it all down Michael's throat! He just cursed at me, and it was nasty. I bet he was cursing you in his head too."
When it came to not being human, Ian truly was miles ahead of everyone else.
Bearing a grudge, he issued a "special concern" for Michael. Then, energy surged around him, and he took off into the sky, heading toward the direction where Raven and that massive magic circle were.
His flight speed was immense.
After all, Ian was no longer the person he used to be.
However.
He had just flown out of the factory.
Before he could even accelerate, in the next instant, he suddenly felt an indescribable, terrifying pressure coming from above his head, as if the entire sky were about to collapse.
Ian's whole body stiffened, his movements instantly halting. He slowly, somewhat rigidly, raised his head and looked at the night sky.
In the dim moonlight, a massive, mountain-like figure was quietly hovering there. He had stony grey skin and wore pitch-black armor. Those scarlet eyes, burning with the Omega Effect, were like the gates of Hell, looking down coldly.
Darkseid!
This Lord of Apokolips was holding another figure by the neck with one hand, like he was holding a tiny chick—it was a man whose chest 'S' symbol was dim and whose mouth was bleeding.
Yes.
That was the already heavily injured.
The dying Superman, Clark Kent!